Fevered Steele
by kgmohror
Summary: Set during season 2, "Steele Searching." After their reunion in London, an injured Steele and Laura spend a restless night together.


**Fevered Steele**

_Set during "Steele Searching"_

Holding up the pocket watch, Steele lay on the soiled cot, his expression a mixture of pain and bemusement. "Wouldn't it be a cork if it turned out I was related to royalty? After spending half my life in dumps like this place!" he chortled. "I've always been afraid of looking too deeply into the past," he continued softly. "Afraid of …" He glanced at Laura almost shyly. "Never mind. Anyway, I'll pay a visit to His Lordship tomorrow morning."

Laura took the watch from his hand and patted his arm gently. "You're in no condition to call on anyone. I'll go. I'll do it for you," she said firmly. Her expression softened and she leaned forward to kiss his grimy, stubbled cheek. "But first we have to get you a doctor."

As she moved to get up from the bed, Steele's hand snaked out with astonishing speed and grabbed her wrist. The movement made him wince, but he held her in a vise-like grip.

"No doctor," he gasped.

Laura placed her hand over his on her wrist, but didn't pull away. "Don't be ridiculous. That wound looks serious. You need a doctor … and you're in no shape to argue with me."

"Laura … please …" Steele groaned, a look of panic flashing in his bleary eyes. "I'm a wanted man. I've got no identification. I can't go to a clinic, and even if you could find a doctor to come here, he'd be bound to report me to the authorities."

"Frankly, that might be the best thing," Laura retorted. "Put you in contact with Scotland Yard and get this whole mess sorted out."

Steele grimaced as he tried to raise himself to a sitting position. "No! Laura, you don't understand. I have a certain … history … here. Suffice it to say that the local constabulary would be more than delighted to offer me their hospitality – on a long-term basis." Exhausted from the effort to make his point, Steele released Laura's wrist and collapsed back on the bed. "Look, Laura. I know I deserve whatever punishment fate has in store for me. But if I'm taken into custody, they'll throw away the key." He closed his eyes and turned his face away from her. "If our past three years together have meant anything to you, please … no doctor."

Laura hesitated. "So what am I supposed to do, then?"

"Nothing. I just need … rest." He opened one eye and looked up at her, tried to muster a wan smile. "Thank you for saving me back there in the warehouse, by the way. And for paying for these accommodations. I'll be – I'll be all right here on my own. You can go."

"Go where?" Laura asked, disbelief in her voice.

"To your hotel. Out sightseeing … Back to Los Angeles."

Laura slammed a fist into the mattress beside him. "Not on your life, buster!" she snapped. "I came 6,000 miles to find you. I'm not letting you out of my sight again."

"Laura, you don't want – don't deserve – the trouble being with me would drag you into." Steele's voice was tired and resigned. He covered his eyes with his forearm and sighed deeply.

"You seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that you get to decide what I want or deserve," Laura said. "I can assure you, I am perfectly able to make those decisions on my own." She reached over and pulled his arm away from his face. He opened his eyes and she locked into his gaze. "Against my better judgment, I won't insist on the doctor," she informed him. "But I'm not leaving you."

She spread open his unbuttoned shirt and removed the damp cloth she'd pressed there earlier. The deep puncture wounds seemed to have stopped bleeding, but their edges were ragged and an angry red. Laura winced in empathy; she knew he must be in agonizing pain. She rinsed out the cloth and laid it gently over the wounds again, then pulled the bed's thin blanket up over him. Steele seemed to have lapsed into sleep, or perhaps semi-consciousness. Reluctantly, she put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently until he opened his eyes again.

Lowering her face close to his, she spoke slowly and firmly. "I need you to do something for me."

"Mmmph?"

"I have to go out for just a few minutes. I need to check in with Mildred and let her know I won't be back to the hotel tonight."

"Promise you're not really going to call a doctor?" His voice was wary.

"Have I ever lied to you?"

He was quiet a moment, then whispered, "No."

"While I'm gone, I want you to stay right here. Don't move a muscle, do you hear me?"

"Mmmph."

"You promise _me_."

He shifted slightly and groaned with the effort. "Have I ever lied to you?" Noting her sharp gaze, he added, "Don't answer that. Fine. I promise I won't leave this room. To be honest, I don't think I have the energy to defy you at the moment." His eyes drifted shut again.

Laura gazed down at him a moment. Steele's lustrous black hair, usually so meticulously coiffed, was disheveled and a lock hung over one eye. She bent and gently smoothed it back from his brow, thankful that he didn't see the worry on her own face. Laura was struck suddenly with an almost overpowering urge to soothe him … to gather his battered body in her arms and kiss his cuts and bruises. But she knew that wouldn't help in the present situation. Getting up from the bed as quietly as possible, Laura reached for her purse. She had important business to attend to.

Laura paced the aisles of the chemists' shop, a small basket slung under her arm. She'd had to walk almost two blocks before she found the Boots pharmacy, and every minute she was away from Mr. Steele increased her anxiety. Locating a phone box, she made a quick call to Mildred, letting her know she wouldn't be back to the hotel but not offering any details. She was sure Lombard would have their hotel under surveillance, had possibly even bugged the phone in their room, so she made the call short.

After that she hurried to collect a few items from the store's shelves: a box of the largest adhesive "plasters" she could find, a bottle of iodine, a packet of aspirin, a tin of McVitie & Price's digestive biscuits and a bottle of ginger beer. After paying for her purchases, she headed back to the rooming house, taking a circuitous route on the chance she was being followed. Despite her partner's promise, Laura half expected to find him gone when she returned. However, he lay on his side in the bed, his body curled into an almost fetal position. He was so still that she experienced a stab of panic when she entered and he didn't stir. Upon reaching the bedside and crouching down beside him, however, she saw that he was breathing deeply.

As she debated whether to wake him, his eyes flickered open. "Laura?" he whispered weakly.

"Yes, it's me," she answered. "How do you feel?"

"Not so bad," he bluffed hoarsely. "I'll be right as rain in the morning." With great effort, he rolled onto his back. Despite his obvious efforts to mask his pain, he let out a tortured hiss. Laura reached over him, trying to cradle his body as it came to rest in its new position.

"Damn it," Steele muttered.

"What is it?"

"I need the loo."

Laura was confused for a moment, until the meaning of the slightly unfamiliar word came to her. "Oh." She looked around the room. "If you don't think you can make it down the hall, there's the basin …"

He gave her a withering look. "I'd rather die. Give me a hand up?"

Laura slid her arm around him and grasped his right hand in her own. With infinite slowness, Steele eased himself to a sitting position, shifted his legs over the side of the bed and, groaning audibly, forced himself to his feet. As the pair made a torturous transit of the room, Laura sneaked a glance at her watch. "No pressure," she said as they reached the door, "but it's 10:55."

"So?" He took another mincing step.

"No flushin' after 11:00."

Steele grunted. "Remind me to express my disappointment to the concierge in the morning."

They made it to the cramped, not exactly antiseptic bathroom. Laura offered to assist Steele, but his look of horror prompted her hasty retreat to wait in the hall. He was inside for several minutes, and finally emerged looking pale and weak. Somehow they made it back to the room and got Steele onto the bed again. Once he was reasonably settled, Laura carried the wash basin and rag to the bathroom, rinsed them and refilled the basin. She set them on the bedside table next to the supplies she'd purchased, then sat down next to Steele on the edge of the bed.

"I'm afraid this might not be very pleasant," she said quietly as she reached for the antiseptic and bandages.

"Oh … and we were having such fun so far," Steele grimaced.

"When I put this iodine on those wounds, it's going to sting like a …"

"… sonofagun?" Steele suggested.

"Something like that." Laura handed him the damp washcloth. "You might want to wad this up and bite down on it."

Laura saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, but he shook his head. "Give me your best shot," he said lightly, but she noticed him curl his hands under the mattress on both sides and grasp the bedframe.

Laura carefully opened his shirt again. The wounds looked even nastier than before, crusted with dried blood and red and weeping around the margins. Laura swallowed hard. She gently wiped around the wounds with a corner of the washcloth Steele had rejected, then opened the iodine bottle and wetted another section of the washcloth with the liquid.

"Ready?" Laura whispered.

Steele closed his eyes, tensed his jaw and nodded. When Laura applied the chemical to his abdomen, he groaned through his teeth and nearly jumped off the bed. His whole body tense and trembling, Steele endured her ministrations until she pulled back and said, "Done."

Steele's tortured frame relaxed slightly as the sting began to subside. Laura quickly unwrapped the bandage and pressed it gently over the wounds. Steele lay gasping, his eyes still screwed tightly shut. Laura noticed his lashes were wet and his face appeared clammy. She gently pulled the blanket back over him. "Rest now," she murmured. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Laura woke with a start, disoriented and alarmed as she tried to recall where she was. She'd nodded off in the dilapidated chair near the bed where Steele lay. The room was dark, apart from a pale gray glow from the streetlights shining through the single narrow, begrimed window. As she came to full wakefulness, Laura became aware of what had roused her. There was a small sound in the darkness … a kind of whimpering. It waxed and waned, rising in pitch and tempo, then falling back almost to silence. Abruptly a voice – recognizable in timbre, yet with an unfamiliar lilt, cried out: "Maimeo!"

Laura leapt to her feet and crossed to the bed. Steele was thrashing, though apparently unconscious. He continued making sounds of distress, his gasps and small moans punctuated by that plaintive cry. "Maimeo! I want me Móraí!"

He had thrown off the blanket, and upon placing a palm on his forehead, beaded with cold sweat, Laura understood why. He was burning up. "Oh, my God!" Laura exclaimed. She grabbed the washcloth out of the basin, where it had been soaking, and tried to mop his face. He was tossing his head, his damp hair plastered against his skull. Laura felt terror form an icy grip around her throat. Was he dying? She knew she had to do something. Call an ambulance? Surely the landlady had a phone in her apartment … but Laura remembered Steele's plea not to expose him. Prison would be preferable to death – even if he were incarcerated, she'd be able to communicate with him, see him sometimes …

Laura tried to imagine Mr. Steele, with his grand passion for living, confined to a small cell. She knew, given the option, that he would choose death. She knelt beside him, fighting the compulsion to call for help. He was less restless now, merely shifting uncomfortably in the bed. No longer whimpering, he had subsided into a low, incoherent mumbling. Laura was able to rinse out the rag and press it to his hot cheeks and throat, hoping to give him some small relief.

Was it hours, or merely minutes that Laura spent tending him – rinsing the washcloth in cool water again and again. He had quiet moments, seemingly sleeping peacefully, and then his body would jerk and he'd cry out again. His words were alien to her; she guessed they were Gaelic, some remnant of his childhood bubbling to the surface of his fevered brain. After one extended period of quiescence, Laura had begun to hope the tide had turned …

"Laura!" Steele shouted, bolting upright in bed. "Where are you?"

"Shhh! It's all right. I'm here!" Laura answered. She clutched his arms and stared into his face. His blue eyes were open, but she saw no recognition in them. Rather, they seemed to look right through her, wide and terrified as if he were seeing something monstrous in the darkness around them. Suddenly he lurched out of her grasp and tried to crawl out of the bed. Laura was stunned by his strength as she struggled to push him back down on the mattress.

"Lemme go!" he shouted. "I've got to get to Laura! Laura needs me!" His energy spent, he abruptly went limp and fell back on the bed. As Laura arranged his sprawled limbs more comfortably, he began mumbling again. His eyes were still open, and when she bent again to wipe his damp forehead, he looked up at her with something like despair. "Please," he murmured. "I've got to find Laura. Will you help me? I've lost her. I've lost her, and I don't know what to do."

"Just take it easy," Laura said soothingly. "Laura is fine, I promise you. Don't worry. You need to rest."

His body relaxed very slightly. "You're sure? You're sure Laura is all right?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I think she's pretty worried about _you_, though."

Steele closed his eyes and sighed. "No … no, she shouldn't worry. Not about me. I don't matter. Laura matters." His eyes opened again, and he fixed them on Laura – but still without really seeing her. "Do you know Laura?"

"Yes, I know her. And I know how angry she'd be to hear you say you don't matter. You matter very much, to many people." Laura fought to control the tremor in her voice. "You matter very much to _her_."

A trace of a smile appeared on his parched lips. "That's because she's such a wonderful person. So smart, so strong, so good. And … oh ... So beautiful." He fell silent, and Laura was startled to see tears form in his eyes. "I could never deserve her. If I spent a million years trying to be the kind of man she wants, I'd still never be worthy of her. I wish …I wish … never mind. It doesn't matter."

"What? What do you wish, Mr. Steele?"

"I wish she could know, that's all. I wish I could tell her …" A teardrop slid down his cheek and he suddenly became restive again.

Laura placed a hand gently on his cheek, soothing him. "There's no need," she whispered. "She knows."

Her words seemed to calm him, and after a moment his eyes closed and his breathing became more regular again.

Soft, gentle fingers riffling through her hair. That was the first sensation Laura experienced as she opened her eyes. The room was bright with morning sunshine. She had fallen asleep beside the bed, her head resting on Mr. Steele's shoulder. It was his fingers she felt in her hair.

"Laura," he said softly. "Are you okay?"

She lifted her head and saw him looking at her with puzzlement and slight concern. He looked … fine. There was no trace of the turbulent, feverish night on his face – indeed, he looked for all the world as if he'd just wakened from a satisfying night's sleep at some four-star hotel. "Um, I'm fine," she managed to sputter. "How are you feeling?"

"Never better," he said, grinning. "I told you all I needed was a little rest and I'd be good as new."

"I can't believe it," Laura shook her head. "You astonish me, Mr. Steele."

"Always my intent, Miss Holt. What are you still doing here? I thought you were going to see the earl of Claridge this morning, see if I'm born to greatness!"

Laura got slowly to her feet, stretching out her cramped limbs. "All right, I'm going. Slave driver." She smiled down at him. "And although you seem to have made a remarkable recovery, you still need to take it easy. Those wounds aren't healed yet you know."

"Nonsense!" Steele snorted, then winced as his body reminded him that she was right. "Well, I might not be 100 percent. But just a bit more of a lie-in and I'll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

"Well, just don't get too frisky, mister," Laura said. "I want you in that bed when I get back."

"Laura, you have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words."

And his delighted chuckle as he tore into the package of biscuits was the last thing she heard as she closed the door behind her.

-END-


End file.
